Anyway, natality matters in the most basic sense insofar as birth is required for there to be any people (as there would with any species); but it is significant insofar as ‘the new beginning inherent in birth can make itself felt in the world only because the newcomer possesses the capacity of beginning something anew, that is, of acting. In this sense of initiative, an element of action, and therefore of natality, is inherent in all human activities. Moreover, since action is the political activity par excellence, natality, and not mortality, may be the central category of political, as distinguished from metaphysical, thought.’

That last point is particularly important, as she roots the highest form of human activity, [political] action, in the world: it is in the world (not in some dream of heaven or gods) that we become human, in living as humans that we may become them—become ourselves.

She later ties this point more tightly to her understanding of politics and of freedom, but this point overlaps with yours and Riddley’s: ‘The new always happens against the overwhelming odds of statistical laws and their probability. . . . The fact that man is capable of action means that the unexpected can be expected from him, that he is able to perform what is infinitely improbable.’ Which means, of course, is that we are—or are at least capable of—unpredictability, the lifeblood of politics.

I could go off on the idiosyncrasy of her definition of politics and why I like it, but I’ll spare you my words and give the last ones to Arendt: ‘The miracle that saves the world, the realm of human affairs, from its normal, ‘natural’ ruin is ultimately the fact of natality, in which the faculty of action is ontologically rooted. It is, in other words, the birth of new men and the new beginning, the action they are capable of by virtue of being born. Only the full experience of this capacity can bestow upon human affairs faith and hope, . . . ‘

Chinese nationals speak something like 500 different languages and dialects, across five language families. Cool, but difficult in an age of globalization. It’s a shame when a language dies – what thoughts could only be expressed in that language? – but, like Doritoes, we’ll make more. Communication is what we do.

Can you expand on the relationship between natality, which I read as birthrate, and a truly human life? I can see that new people = new ideas, at least theoretically, but I don’t really know what you mean.

Anyway, to reconstruct: According to one history I read of the mid-late medieval period, folks in one village might not be able to understand folks from another nearby village: since villagers might not ever leave the boundaries of their birth-place, dialectical idiosyncracies could take hold and make a common language, well, not so common.

As to human nature, I follow Arendt in her contention that we have no good way determining our nature, but that we can say something about our condition as humans. She’d also agree with Riddley in his discourse on hope, insofar as she noted the centrality of natality, with its attendant possibilities and unpredictabilities, to a truly human life.

I think that those of us who have trouble with depression do have happy, content and perhaps even joyful (gasp!) moments, and finding those moments sometimes in even very “small” things, can permit fleeting nanoseconds of ecstasy.

The other day I was looking out my window and was mesmerized by this tiny, absolutely stunningly beautiful hummingbird, with a bright fire engine red chest, flitting in the bushes behind my house, only a few feet from my windows. At one point, it stopped and seemed to hover, and was, I swear, watching me, as I watched it. Then went back to sipping nectar out of the passion flower vines. For a brief moment, the abject sadness went away. ….

Although I am new to Zazen and Zen Buddhism, it has been one of the most amazing things in my life which has helped me overcome some of the greatest obstacles in life, a psychotic episode with manic features brought on by medication mishaps. I lost all of my faith following that episode and dealt with a deep and resounding depression afterwards. Now I have recovered and much of that due to what Zazen has given me. It did not restore my faith, it restored my connection to myself and life.

There is much beauty in life, and there is great suffering. There are wonderous joys and gut wrenching pain. Yet in the stillness, the still mind, which I have experienced a few times, a wonderous thing emerges.

In the moment of the stillness of the mind, there is peace, equanimity and happiness. A place we can go to again and again. A place we cultivate and build our lives from.

Bring joy to someone elses life and you will not only aleviate suffering, but bring about more happiness in your own. Even a small gesture does good things.

And these things help us overcome depression even as we let go of our self delusions and see reality for what it really is.

I am not always happy, but I am not depressed. But I am grateful to say that I am not decieving myself anymore!

When I’m very very depressed, it’s almost impossible to see any good. The best I can do is neutral. But I’ve never had a problem seeing the non-bad as frivolous. I wonder if that’s a typical view.

Is that the disease part, that I – or you – can’t see the light sometimes? But what about people who can’t see the dark? Aren’t they also diseased?

I think it’s natural for each of us to think our own particular mix = normal, when really, I don’t think there is a normal. Just a range. I don’t know how much we can move within that range.

As for letting in light, well, nature would be a good place to go, if you can find any.

But now I’m not so sure—about either the wreck-edness or the foolishness.

I think I was and in many ways still am a wreck, but that’s not all that I am, and while I can see the crud of the world, the world isn’t all crud.

So maybe the issue isn’t one of happy deception vs gutter reality, but of trying to see all that there is, good and bad. No, we can never see everything and much of what we see will be awful, but if we recognize we can’t see everything maybe we can recognize that not everything is always bad.

Hm. Unclear. I guess I want to push back against this notion—one I’ve held on to for too long—that only the dark stuff is real and serious, and that the non-dark is frivolous and unworthy of attention. And that goes not just for the world but for myself, too.

But having spent most of my adult life cultivating the dim, it’s hard to let in even a little light.